


The New Songstress In Town

by Cojiko



Category: Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z, Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fallout (Video Games) Setting, F/M, Jazz - Freeform, Mild Language, Post-Canon, Sole Survivor sided with the Minutemen, Swearing, Takes place after blowing up the institute, The androids are a band, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-19 09:14:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22608571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cojiko/pseuds/Cojiko
Summary: When going on a trip to Goodneighbor, the least you could do is head down to The Third Rail and listen to Magnolia work her magic.But it seems like there're some new folk coming to the stage tonight.And luckily for one trader, he was able to get a front-row seat to the performance.
Relationships: Android 18/Krillin (Dragon Ball)
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1: Crappy Day

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Villain I Appear To Be](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/557107) by Connor Spiotto. 



Radstorms.

There was only one thing you could say when waiting out a radstorm in some decrepit old building out in the middle of nowhere.

“Fuck radstorms.”

They were an uncontrollable phenomenon that always made everyone feel terrible, sometimes made somebody fall deathly ill, and could ruin a cargo of fresh crops if you weren’t out of the way fast enough.

Not to mention the smell, ugh… It was like a Ghoul had been turned inside out, exploded, and set on fire. Plus, since it was July, that meant the stench was cranked up from being set on fire to being boiled.

Of course, there wasn’t anything that could be done about them now. The nukes that caused them detonated hundreds of years ago. At this point, radstorms were just another part of surviving out in the Commonwealth. Can’t do anything besides stock up on Rad-X and find someplace safe to wait out the storm.

Krillin preferred this tactic rather than just braving the nuclear weather and hoping all goes well. He’s been made fun of for having no nose like Ghouls before and he’d like to avoid going all out with the insult if he could help it. Hell, he’d rather be back at Croup Manor’s half-flooded basement; at least that place was radiation-proof.

As the young man popped another two tablets of Rad-X in his mouth, he glanced over to his side and stared at his cargo. His heavy, 40+ pound cargo that was stuffed into a dirty green duffel bag. As he looked over the damn thing with exhausted annoyance, Krillin couldn’t help but think to himself;

_(Why the hell did I come out here again?)_

Why indeed. Why was this 5’0” noseless man wearing oversized military fatigues miles away from the spacious, albeit rickety, island manor? Why was he hiding out in some blasted-out building in the death-infested ruins of Boston?

Let’s answer that question with another kind of question; a favor.  
Or a request, however you’d like to call it.

\---

_Croup Manor, July 5 th, 2288_

_Two days earlier…_

It all began when a certain mechanic came to visit Krillin’s little trading post inside the manor.

“Heeeey, Krillin! How’s my good friend and business partner doing?” Her tone was condescending and reeked of something suspicious. Even more suspicious was the large duffel bag she was carrying with her. Krillin didn’t even give her a glance as the woman entered the room, too busy with organizing his stand’s inventory to look up.

“What do you want, Bulma? I’m busy.”

The blue-haired woman pretended to look offended.  
“What? Am I not allowed to check on my friends once in a while? After all, it’s been like, what, two weeks since we last talked?”

Krillin looked up from below and gave Bulma an unamused glare.  
“Cut the crap, I know you want something from me.”

“What? No! That’s not it at all, man! I just…um…”

The mechanic’s bubbly attitude quickly faltered under the trader’s scrutinizing gaze. After coming up with nothing but ‘ers’ and ‘uhs’, Bulma finally decided to just drop the façade altogether.

“Okay, look. I’ve got this little trade I’m getting finalized and I thought that you could help an old friend out with it. I mean, trading and selling _is_ kind of your thing.”

Krillin furrowed is brow in suspicion.  
“‘Kind of my thing?’ Try ‘job for the past five years.’ What kind of trade are you dealing with here, anyway?”

Bulma quickly surveyed the room, making sure there was nobody else who could possibly listen in. It was getting close to eight, so the room Krillin used was empty anyway. Everyone was probably fixing up their dinner downstairs.

Once her suspicions were debunked, Bulma signaled Krillin to come up. Once he did, she leaned in closer to her friend’s face and whispered.

“The kind of deal that’ll have us swimming in caps!  
…Y’know, if everything goes well and nobody’s, well… _hurt_. I made myself a pretty delicate piece of work that’ll definitely catch a few eyes if you know what I mean.”

This was the kind of stuff the blue-haired mechanic would always try and persuade Krillin to do; hair-brained schemes that typically led to mayhem and near-death experiences. Normally, the trader would put aside his reservations and help anyway. He usually wasn’t in it for the caps, but rather to keep Bulma from pissing off the wrong person and getting herself killed. The conversation really doesn’t show it much, but Krillin does consider the schemer a close friend…at least, close enough to help her out of a sticky situation.

But this time, something was a bit _off_ about this whole thing. From how Bulma worded it, this trade she’s planning sounded like a pretty fragile operation. A little _too_ fragile and _way_ too fishy. And when you’ve spent a couple of years in this line of work, you learn to identify when people try to sell you some pretty questionable shit.

“Oh my god, Bulma. Don’t tell me you’re dealing chems-” But a quick slam of a fist onto the post table interrupted that accusation.

“ _I AM NOT DEALING THAT JUNK, YOU RUDE LITTLE MAN!_ ” Bulma’s screech was loud enough to echo throughout the room. Hell, it was loud enough that somebody from the first floor heard it.

“Hey! Who th’ fffffuck is screamin’ up there!? Ahm tryin’ t-t-ta _drink_!”

As immediately as that voice yelled back, Bulma once again put on that happy, cheerful front of hers,  
“Sorry, sorry! Everything’s fine, don’t worry!”

The speed she could flip flop her personas at would be terrifying had Krillin not known the woman for five years. Once the drunken muttering went quiet, Bulma then continued relaying the info of this ‘trade’ of hers. Well, info in the barest minimum.

“Look, I know you’re always in short supply of some cash. What I’m about to do can seriously help you out! You could finally turn this dirty stand into something respectable!”

“H-Hey, this stand has more benefits than you think! Besides, the way you’re suggesting this makes it sound like it could be just a _little bit_ of a **major crime**.”

“Oh please! This isn’t something you’d hear in those Silver Shroud stories! All I’m asking you to do is deliver a Fat Man for me and bring back the profits.”

If Krillin had been drinking something, he would have definitely spat it out. Or accidentally swallow it down the wrong pipe, one or the other. Either way, he was still flabbergasted at this information; A _Fat Man_? As in the _goddamn mini-nuke launcher_?! This had to be a joke! Who could say something that casually and actually be serious about it!?

“Ha…ha ha ha…! V-Very funny, Bulma. When’s your next live show?”

Bulma looked confused, however.  
“It’s not a joke, Krillin. I’m selling a Fat Man.”

Krillin could only run his hands through his hair and groan. What the _fuck_.  
“Jesus CHRIST. You can’t just _sell_ a Fat Man, Bulma.”

“Well, it isn’t just any ordinary Fat Man!”  
As if on cue, the young woman opened up her duffel bag and slammed a large… _something_ on the trading post table. It _looked_ like a Fat Man, but its frame was completely different. For one thing, there was no trigger at the handle and said handle looked like it was missing too and replaced with some rectangular metal box. On closer inspection, it turned out that the handle was actually _inside_ of the box, as if it was armored. Furthermore, the spot where you placed the mini-nuke was at the mouth of launcher rather than the back, which had been instead filled with a giant spring.  
Well, Bulma was right. This wasn’t a Fat Man. This was something completely ridiculous.

“It’s a one-of-a-kind, spring-based nuke launcher of my design! Instead of launching nukes with a trigger, you pull the bomb back and watch her fly! Only something so genius could come from a genius, am I right?” Of course, she made the damn thing. Can’t even just sell a regular Fat Man launcher, can she? Bulma has to cook something special just to get in those few extra caps.  
“Not only that but included is a MIRV mod that’ll shoot three nukes in one go and with a higher range than the normal version. It’s guaranteed to cause maximum damage with little worry!” _Because why not?_

Once she finished her impromptu sales pitch, the bluenette couldn’t help but beam a proud smile.  
“So…What do you think? It’s a great weapon, is it not?”

Complete silence filled the room for seven seconds before Krillin clapped his hands together and took a deep breath.

“…Let me get all this straight. You want _me_ to drop all my plans and deliver this monstrosity of a weapon, a weapon that I haven’t even seen _work like you’ve said_ , all with the promise of getting to ‘swim in caps.’ Did I miss anything there, Bulma?”

Bulma hummed “Well, you forgot the part where I say I found the buyer in Goodneighbor”

“Son of a bitch…”

“Oh, and I need you to deliver a few mini-nukes along with it.”

“WHY. Why do you need to have those delivered too?!”

Bulma pouted.  
“Because the buyer’s going to take this bad boy for a spin and she’s not going to use her own stock! Those are expensive!”

“This whole thing is expensive on my patience. You’re asking me to walk around crumbling ruins, tip-toe around raiders and muties, all while carrying this…this _death wish_ with me and making sure none of the nukes go off?”

“Eeyup.”

Krillin stared his insane friend dead in the eyes for a good, long bit before opening his mouth again.  
“And what, pray tell, are you expecting me to do this for? A thousand caps? Two thousand???”

Bulma simply grinned a smug grin. The smuggest grin that you’ll ever want to wipe off with a filthy boot.

“Ten. Thousand. Caps. For each of us.”

\---

_(Oh, right…)_

And that’s the long-ass backstory as to why Krillin was stuck in Boston during a radstorm. As he thought back on his and Bulma’s conversation, he couldn’t help but groan in annoyance. He still can’t believe he was doing this at all, even _with_ that promise of _ten thousand freakin’ caps_. Sure, with that amount of money he could actually build up a larger shop, maybe even build it in a town with more traffic like Sanctuary. But given what a normal day traveling through the Commonwealth was like, Krillin wasn’t sure if any of this was a good idea. In his opinion, the current cons were definitely outweighing the future positives…

Like getting chased down by raiders in Revere.

Or almost getting his head blown off by Super Mutants back at the North End.

Or this radstorm that made him want to puke his guts out, even with the medicine he was taking.

Everything Krillin has experienced so far told him that this little journey to Goodneighbor was probably a major freakin’ bad idea and he wasn’t even in the town yet! From what he could tell, the little man was likely just a mile away from the gate and the only thing keeping him back was the weather and his own hesitance. See, Goodneighbor is known for three things;

The staggeringly large crime rates,  
The large population of banished settlers and junkie drifters,  
And the rampant drug trade throughout the community.

And each of these three things has caused more than its fair share of chaos for residents and visitors alike, especially in the months since the Institute’s destruction. If what the rumors say were true, it sounded like Goodneighbor put on a month-long party filled with nothing but jet, booze, and half of the population being drugged out of their minds, all in celebration of the Institute being blown to hell and back. This all appears to have resulted in a city-wide hangover that still seems to linger about to this day.

To put it short, Krillin was _not_ excited about trudging into a city still dealing with the side effects of their little party. Even now, he’s been trying to stall for time so that he wouldn’t have to go in there so soon. But now he was starting to run out of excuses; Krillin could see the deep green clouds moving away and the sky turn bright blue again, as it should be. That means no more radstorm and no more radiation sickness to deal with for now.

“ _Sigh_ …Might as well get this over with as quickly as I can.”

With a loud grunt, Krillin picks himself and his cargo off from the ground and finally begins trekking towards his final destination. As the short trader makes his way to the Goodneighbor’s entrance, he passes by two guards, one normal and one Ghoul, who don’t appear to have inside voices.

“Hey, did you hear the news recently? Sounds like Magnolia’s got herself some competition down at the club!”

“Eh? Competition? You’re talking about that band that’s visitin’ town, right? I don’t think they’re trying to edge in on Magnolia’s territory, though. From how I heard it, it seems like Mags actually invited that group here.”

“Dunno if it really matters or not, but either way it sounds like they’re gonna be performing a few pieces tonight. I’m curious to see what they’re all about. Apparently, they’ve actually got a couple a’ workin’ instruments! A bunch a’ drums and…somethin’ called a sex-o-phone?”

“It’s called a saxophone, you moron!”

The Ghoul guard angrily smacks his coworker on the back of the head, accidentally knocking the poor man out in the process.

“Uh…oops.” Then the Ghoul glances over at Krillin, who was still watching the whole thing play out. The guard frowns.

“You, uh…you ain’t gonna tell Hancock about this, are you?”

Krillin shakes his head.  
“I don’t even know who that guy is.”

After a brief moment, the guard does a shooing motion with his hand.  
“Bah, pro’lly won’t matter anyway. Besides, I’d say my friend here deserved it. People these days have no respect for the tools that made their radio music…”

Yeah, Krillin wasn’t going to get himself distracted this time. With a tilt of his battered cap, the trader swiftly entered the gates into Goodneighbor’s square. It was about what you’d expect, drifters all over the place and guards patrolling the area. Luckily, the square also held Krillin’s final destination; Kill or Be Killed.

Finally, this hell of a trip will be over soon…

Or will it?

\--- _To Be Continued_ \---


	2. Chapter 2: Ain't That A Beer To The Head?

The one good thing about Goodneighbor to Krillin so far was the fact that the shop he needed to go to has no door.

…

I know it’s a really minor detail, but when you’re carrying at least fifty pounds worth of metal and explosives in a single, dirty duffel bag, having the choice to not open doors and just walk into a room is nice.

What wasn’t nice was what came after walking into the shop. You’d expect the laws of the universe to dictate that ‘Yeah, a store of any kind probably _should_ have a cashier on standby, _just_ to be safe.’

Nope. No such luck.

The weapons store was pretty much empty, save for the passing drifters who came in to use the workbench next to the store’s counter. There wasn’t even a note or anything explaining where the cashier went or when they’d be back; the only thing there was one annoyed little man.

“You have gotta be freakin’ kidding me here…” Krillin grumbled under his breath. It was backbreaking enough to carry three mini-nukes and a launcher for miles on end, he wasn’t just going to stand in a store with a literal open-door policy and wait for God knows how long. So, the only other thing the trader could possibly do now was to ask someone where the storekeeper went…Perhaps a neighbor knew? I mean, there _was_ another whole store sharing the same foundation with Kill or Be Killed, after all.

Popping his head into the other space, Krillin quickly found this shop to be much more promising than its neighbor. For one, it actually had somebody working up at the counter! A female Ghoul wearing a pretty nice suit and who, surprisingly enough, had enough hair to put up into something tidy. And even though she was a Ghoul, she didn’t give off any aloof or cold vibes like the many other Ghouls Krillin had encountered before. All things considered; this woman had a semi-friendly ambiance about her. Hopefully, enough to answer a question or two.

“Ahem!” Krillin cleared his throat to get the shopkeeper’s attention. As expected, she tilted her head up and fixed her gaze on him.

“You here to trade?” She asked in a raspy voice.

“Um, kind of? I’m actually looking for someone and I thought you might know where they could be? I think their name is, uh…Chloe?”

“Chloe?”  
The Ghoul furrowed her brow in thought before snapping her fingers.  
“Oh-OH! I think you mean Kleo, kid! Yeah, I know where she went!”

Krillin let out a sigh of relief.  
“Oh, thank God. Well, could you tell me where she went? I have something I need her to look at.”

But then the Ghoul frowned a bit.  
“Well, you’re gonna have to wait a bit on that one, kid. Kleo’s getting a tune-up done and she probably won’t be back until after closing time.”

Wait, what did she say? Kleo was getting a _tune-up_? Well, that can’t be right…Maybe this lady got her terms mixed up?  
“Don’t you mean a checkup?”

The cashier then let out a raspy, but hearty laugh.  
“Ha, ha, ha! You must be new around here, aren’t you? If that’s the case, it ain’t surprising that you didn’t know who exactly Kleo was!” Oh, dear.

“Uh…what do you mean? Are you saying that-” But the Ghoul interrupted, finishing the sentence.

“She’s actually a robot? You bet your bottom cap I am! The technical term is Assaultron, but, ah, you probably shouldn’t call her that if you enjoy having kneecaps. Anyway, she’s busy getting Rufus to fix her up, so I’d suggest that ya go get a room for the night up at Hotel Rexford and come back tomorrow.”

Krillin wasn’t sure what else to say at this point, but at the very least this strange conversation gave him the information he needed as well as tell him what else to expect in this neighborhood. It’s not every day one discovers a sentient machine who runs their own business and the fact that Kleo is an Assaultron…Well, it gives the trader a hint that he should probably watch what he does around them.

But the revelation that Kleo is a robot doesn’t change the fact that not only is he going to have to lug around this stupid Fat Man for a while longer, but _now_ he’s going to have to do what he had been hoping to avoid at all cost; Krillin is now not only forced to stay within Goodneighbor (Unless he actually _wants_ to risk sleeping outside the gates), but he’s also going to have to stay in what can be assumed to be a sleazy, unwashed hotel riddled with who knows what…  
 _-Shudder-_

Krillin gulped nervously.  
“A-Ah…There wouldn’t happen to be a way I could just talk to Kleo while she’s seeing this Rufus guy, would there? I’m…I-I’m a pretty busy guy, y’ know?”

But the Ghoul just stared back unamused.  
“Sorry, kid. You’re either gonna have to wait for Kleo to come back or you walk out with nothing. If I were you, I’d just get a room and get this trade of your worked out tomorrow.”

Oh, come on! This can’t be the only option left!

“B-But I-Wagh!” But before Krillin could protest, a large, burly drifter shoved him out of the way and placed a huge pile of junk onto the counter. He barely seemed to pay the poor trader any mind as he fixed his gaze on the Ghoul behind the pile.

“Hey, Daisy! Can ya help me sort through this stuff? I think I got some good shit today that ya might wanna look at!”

The abruptness of the request flustered Daisy, but only for a moment.  
“Uh, sure thing bud. Just wait a second…” She then craned her neck around the rotund man to look at Krillin. The shove nearly made him drop his bag, but he and, more importantly, his cargo, were thankfully okay.

“Rooms over at the Rexford are ten caps per night if you weren’t aware. It’s just behind the Old State House, next to the Memory Den.” The Ghoul made an anti-clockwise gesture with her hand before bringing her attention back to her new customer’s junk pile.

Krillin frowned before stepping back. Guess he’ll have to take whatever fate has dealt him and make the best out of it.  
“Thanks anyway, I guess…”

He wasn’t sure if she had heard him, but I guess it doesn’t really matter when he’s already ten feet away from the door.

\---

Following Daisy’s advice, Krillin quickly walked around the Old State Building, past the Memory Den, and soon enough found himself turning a doorknob and stepping into the Hotel Rexford. If anything, it was at least easy enough to find the place. Despite being called a city earlier, Goodneighbor was more like a small town that was constantly under threat of Super Mutants and Raiders. I know it sounds bad, but its status makes knowing where everything is simple to learn and at this point, Krillin is grasping for whatever silver linings he can find.

In fact, here’s another silver lining right now! This place sells something so elusive, so scarce in the Commonwealth that most people believe the concept to be a myth…

 _Ice. Cold. Drinks_. Beer, to be exact.

See, as soon as the young man walked into the spacious lobby, there were these two counters; one was obviously the reception desk and the other was a bar counter and next to the latter was this repurposed Protectron. The paint on its…er, facial area was a bit faded and scratched up, but one could still make out the word _Buddy,_ nonetheless.

`“GREETINGS, NEW CUSTOMER. ARE YOU HERE FOR A ROOM, A LAUGH, OR WOULD YOU LIKE A COLD BEVERAGE?”`

“Wait, you’ve got cold drinks on you?”

`“OF COURSE. THAT IS ONE OF THE MANY THINGS I WAS PROGRAMMED TO DO, ALONG WITH BREWING THE BEER AND TELLING JOKES. NEW CUSTOMERS ARE ALSO ALLOWED ONE DRINK ON THE HOUSE, AS PER MS. HUTCHINS’ POLICY.”`

_Damn_.

Now, Krillin wasn’t what you would call a drinking type of guy, but a free drink is a free drink! Besides, July was one of the most _unbearable_ months in the year with all the heatwaves and radiation stank. It would be nice to have something cold to drink, whether it was water or alcohol.

“Hell yeah, I’ll take a beer!” Krillin eagerly exclaimed. Something began to whirl inside Buddy and within a few seconds, a muffled _thunk_ was heard and the red deposit box on the Protectron’s front slid open, revealing an ice-cold bottle of Gwinnett Stout. Pre-war technology at its finest and Krillin was quick to begin indulging in it while he still can. But as soon as he reached out to grab the beer, a strange clicking sound came from within the box. The trader thought that maybe it was just a random machine noise, but its significance didn’t hit him until…

`“CATCH.”` Buddy stated as another click was made.

“Huh?”

Now _that_ was when meaning hit him… _literally_. Before he could even blink, the cold beer shot out like a bullet and struck Krillin smack dab in the middle of his forehead.

“BWOAH, SHIT!”

What happened next? Well, it’s a bit hazy…  
Krillin knew for a fact that his head was now pounding like crazy and that his vision was getting a bit foggy. In the background, he thought he heard a voice yelling out.

“Buddy! What the hell happened!?” It screamed angrily.

`“APOLOGIES, MS. HUTCHINS. MR. RUBENS HAS OUT ᶠᴵᵀᵀᴱᴰ ᴹᴱ ᵂᴵᵀᴴ ᴬ ᴸᴬᵁᴺᶜᴴ…”`

And that was the last thing Krillin heard before everything faded to black…

\---

"Ugh…Y-Yeowch."

When he finally came to, all Krillin felt at first was that pounding headache from earlier, as well as an awful burning pain where the bottle had hit him. It all made it nearly impossible to open his eyes without wincing in pain. All the man could tell about his surroundings was that he was laying down on something soft…

“Ngh…S-Shit…What the hell happened…?” Krillin tried to lift himself up, but his ascent was slowed by…somebody, he didn’t know who. What he _did_ know was that there was a hand pushing back on his left shoulder. It was…strangely gentle, but firm all the same.

“Hey, now. Take it easy. You’ll get dizzy if you move too quickly.” A voice softly warned. They kind of sounded like a woman, but Krillin wasn’t sure; it was feminine, but it was also somewhat deep with a subtle, assertive force to it. It was reminiscent of some adults Krillin had known growing up.

The trader didn’t recognize it at all, which wasn’t surprising in the slightest. Even so, it wasn’t that damn Buddy robot and it wasn’t that other voice from before, who he can assume was the aforementioned Ms. Hutchins. So, who was this then? Was it another person? Was it a ghost with some physical influence? Was it a hallucination caused by the pain?

The headache still made even smaller movements hurt like hell, but Krillin began to open his eyes anyway. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but it likely wasn’t anything bad-

“Are you feeling okay, sir?”

It…actually wasn’t bad. Krillin wasn’t sure how to describe it-no, he wasn’t sure how to describe _them_ , the person in front of him. But they weren’t bad at all.

_(She’s…beautiful.)_


End file.
